


The Right Motivation Is All Need

by KittyBits



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age 'reversal', Age Difference, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Derek is a brooding student who broods, F/M, First Time, M/M, Sexual Content, Stiles is a sad teacher who pines, Teacher-Student Relationship, and Lydia, and gets better grades with the right motivator, and he has horrible friends who wants to help, but Stiles should be fired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-23
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-15 22:18:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyBits/pseuds/KittyBits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles was the teacher.<br/>Derek was the student.<br/>And Stiles just really, really wanted to rip off all of Derek's clothes and lick off that horribly sexy scowl.<br/>He didn't though, because he was a teacher and responsible and proper. But then Laura asked for his help with Derek and there was no way this could end anyway but badly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Right Motivation Is All Need

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on my ff.net account at: http://www.fanfiction.net/u/2575151/

Stiles was going to be the coolest teacher these kids were ever going to have. He was going to inspire them and show them how exciting learning could be, just like the teachers in all those movies.

He would soon be recognized as the man all other teachers compared themselves to and secretly wanted to be.

And so, yeah, he might be a bit of a dweeb.

And sure, when he himself had been in High School he had been a spazz and a loser.

But all that just helped him understand how the kids were feeling – really he was much more equipped to help any troubled teen than most student councilors he had met.

So, no. Stiles was going to be the most awesome teacher those kids were ever going to have, period.

At least, that was what was going to happen when he got his shit together and entered the fucking class room – what were the kids going to do anyway?

Kill him?

Not likely.

Maim and castrate?

A lot more likely, but it wasn't as if he hadn't been trough a beating or two back in the days, and what did he really do with his penis? Pee, yeah sure, but girls managed just fine without it and he hadn't had sex in longer than he liked to think about and he really ought to get a grip and just open the door.

Thinking about doing it was sure not to help anyway.

So he sort of didn't-think, a trick he had learned from an ex-boyfriend, and pushed the door open, smiling a big blinding smile as he entered the room filled from wall to wall with 17 year-olds.

Oh God, he was going to die.

“Hey guys,” he said,eternally relieved when his voice sounded all calm and steady. “I'm Stiles and this is European History. I don't know what you've heard about me, but I know there's some rumors going round about my name and stuff – Stiles is a nickname, and none of you will ever know what my first name is. My last name is Stilinski – and yes, I am related to the Sheriff, he is in fact my father. Not that that ever stopped me from getting into trouble way back when, but that's not important.”

He took a breath and looked over the assembled seniors. They all looked back with faces holding varying degrees of disbelief.

Initial dislike? He could work with that, hell he had worked with that his entire life.

“Great, so I'm fresh out of college and I'll only be temping here for this year until Mrs. Argent comes back from her sick leave – who knew we had wolves in California anyway? I thought they died out, like, ages ago! But anyway, I'm really young and shit, and I still remember a lot of what you guys are going through, so if you ever feel like it, I'm completely open for you to come talk to me. So, yeah. Um, what do I do now?”

“Roll call?” a pimpled and bespectacled boy in the first row suggested and Stiles could literally smell the need to please emanating from him.

“Great idea,” he said and put his messenger bag down on the desk, flipping through the contents, trying to find the list the secretary Mrs. Newark had handed him. “It was in here just a-ah! Here it is!” He pulled the list up victoriously, flinching when it snapped in half with a loud tear. “Shit.”

Scattered laughter sounded from the room.

“Come on guys,” Stiles said in a pleading voice. “Cut me some slack here, you're literally my first class ever – I'm gonna need you to work with me if things are to run relatively smoothly!”

There wasn't much of a response to that, but Stiles deemed their lack of riot a point for his side and started calling the names, carefully looking up to link faces to names. He quite liked the class he had been assigned, they seemed nice enough but he was a bit wary of the couple sitting in the back row, who had been practically glaring at him since the moment he stepped in the door.

The boy next to muttered a blank “yeah” in response to Derek Hale and the girl responded with an aggressive, “present,” when Stiles called out Erica Reyes.

Stiles almost stopped to stare at the boy.

Teenager.

Young man?

Derek Hale looked older than most in the class, although it couldn't be by much and it was mostly wishful thinking probably. Which lead to Stiles stumbling over the syllables of Benjamin Hilsworth's incredibly stupid name when he realized he was wishing something about a student of his.

He had talked to Lydia about this, it was _not_ supposed to happen.

So yeah, maybe Stiles had a pendant for falling head over heels at first sight followed by a _long_ period of pining, but Lydia had been pretty clear about how unwise it would be to get involved with someone he worked with.

Getting involved with one of his students?

Pretty much the wrongest of wrong. And illegal in some states.

Was it illegal to date a student in California?

Why did Stiles not know this?

He made a mental note to do some research later and continued to introduce the student plan (of which he was pretty damn proud, if he dared say so) and trying not to glance at Derek Hale and his girlfriend every few minutes.

The first part he managed moderately smoothly.

The second part disastrously badly.

His relief was palpable when the bell rang, and the students started leaving the class room, friendly and commiserating smiles thrown in his direction ever so often.

Derek Hale and Erica Reyes were the last two to leave and the long hard look Derek bestowed on Stiles made shivers run down his back and his finger tips tingle.

In all sorts of bad ways.

“Oh fuck,” he breathed when the door swung closed behind Erica, his hand darting to his pocket, where it quickly, albeit clumsily, fished his phone up. “Pick up, pick up, pick up,” he whispered manically, eyes never leaving the door, afraid someone might suddenly burst in.

“What the hell do you want? I was sleeping,” an angry voice greeted him when the call connected.

“Lydia, I'm in so much trouble,” he hissed into the phone, and considered how cowardly of him it would be to hide under the desk while he was having this conversation.

And when was his next class going to show up anyway?

“This better be good Stilinski, I don't have time to talk you down from another panic attack – no wait, that's a lie. I don't _want_ to talk you down from another panic attack.” Stiles had harbored the biggest crush on Lydia Martin all through High School, never caring that she never spared him even a glance. Then the both ended up at Berkeley and ended up in the same group of friends just when Stiles realized how much more awesome dick was over vagina.

Lydia ended up as what was probably the closest he would ever get to a fag hag, not that she would let him live if she ever heard him call her that.

“I'm attracted to one of my students,” he said, quietly and pouting at the empty room. “What am I gonna do?”

“Ignore it and let me go back to sleep,” Lydia suggested scathingly.

“I kinda don't want to,” Stiles whined.

“Then don't ignore it. Think about it all the time and pine and wallow and let me go back to sleep.” Lydia sounded bored, but it didn't deter Stiles; that was pretty much her default setting.

“Do you think I should do anything about it? Please Lydia, you know how horrible I am at these things?”

“Stiles. This conversation is boring me. I want to sleep, a fact you clearly can't get into your thick skull. I do not care if you lust the crap out of some pathetic sixteen year old with bad skin-”

“I don't think he's sixteen,” Stiles interrupted, only first then remembering how much Lydia hated to be interrupted. “I think someone mentioned the Hales having to repeat a year each because of, you know, the fire and missing school and all that.” The other end of the line had gone completely quiet. “Lydia? You still there?”

“You're crushing on Derek Hale?” The disbelief was thick in her voice, but all Stiles register is shock that she knew who it was without him having to give up the first name.

Oh God, Lydia could read his thoughts – that was so disturbing!

But if she was indeed able to read his thoughts, wouldn't she have known what he had been thinking about her in High School and alerted someone about how mentally unstable he was?

Huh, so she probably wasn't able to read his thoughts.

Nice to know.

“You know him?” he asked, very much beyond being just surprised although less panicky now.

“Stiles, that kid is like, major trouble. He started a gang or something. They hang out at corners a beat up people and commit vandalism. You'll never be able to take him home to meet your dad, he'll probably have to arrest him on sight.”

“I think you're exaggerating here-”

“But no one pays you to think for a reason, that being that I'm far better at doing just that than you. You are a decent researcher, and that's it. Leave the big game plans for me. My plan right now consists of you, doing your job and leaving Derek Hale alone.”

Stiles only heard one thing in that sentence. “You think I'm a decent researcher? I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me!”

“And now you bore me again. Don't bother contact me again until something truly interesting happens.” Lydia ended the call before Stiles had a chance to tell her goodbye and that she was his favorite evil mastermind.

Then the warning bell sounded, making him jump in surprise and drop his cell on the floor in a clatter.

 

Stiles' first week of teaching went smoothly. As he had totally predicted all his students loved him and his dorky ways of connecting with them. The only thing not going as well as he hoped was his Senior European History class, and it was pretty much all thanks to Derek Hale and his stubborn and stupidly attractive glaring.

Really, who was that ridiculously handsome while looking so pissed off?

Beside Jackson Whittemore, but he was just a cruel, cruel man who deserved everything the world threw in his direction. Which was pretty much all good, so Stiles' point didn't really go down that well.

By the following week's weekend, after another three classes and meeting Derek seven times coincidentally in the halls, Stiles was pretty sure he was infatuated and good on his way to feeling _emotions_.

From what he heard from his fellow educators, Derek at least didn't have a pleasant personality, like, _at_ _all_ , so if Stiles was lucky (which he never were. Like _ever_ ) the emotions would just stay a crush that would inevitably end when Allison's mother came back to work and Stiles' contract ended.

The knowledge that his and Derek's ways would part at some point did not lessen his need to whine about it, which was why he ended up at Scott and Allison's place Saturday night with two six-packs and the biggest peperoni and ham pizza available in Beacon Hills.

“Hi Stiles,” Allison greeted him, her smile fading quickly when she took in his unhappy pout. “Are you okay?”

“No,” he relied with a sigh and shouldered his way past her and dropping down on the lumpy couch dramatically. “My life is in ruins. Or at least the potential for it to be is present and overwhelmingly close.” Allison sat down next to him with a sympathetic smile on her face.

“Allison, have you seen my- oh, hey Stiles, what are you doing here?” Scott said, entering the room, then doing a sharp turn from his route towards the bedroom and steered to the couch, sitting down on the other side of Stiles and relieving him of his beer and pizza.

At least a can of one and a slice of the other.

Scott was such a good friend.

“My life is turning to shit,” Stiles declared and closed his eyes against the utter humiliation.

“Since when did your turn into such a drama queen?” Scott asked, words muffled by the pizza in his mouth. Stiles leveled an unimpressed look at him.

“I'm falling for a student of mine.”

And there, he said it. Because he was Stiles Stilinski, Man of Rotten Luck, of course he was going to fall in love with a student of his.

A bad-news-sort of student at that.

It was so typical, it wasn't even funny.

“She hot?” Scott asked, and Allison leaned across Stiles to hit her boyfriend's shoulder.

“You know Stiles isn't interested in girls,” she scolded him before smiling sweetly to Stiles. “Is _he_ hot?”

“Oh, God yes,” Stiles moaned. “He's sooo hot! Like, all dark eyes and hair and even a bit of shadow along his jaw. He's seventeen, maybe eighteen and I'm such an old pervert from lusting for him but I just can't stop thinking about him, it's horrible.”

“He sounds very handsome,” Allison offered and she and Stiles both ignored Scott's insulted yelp. “Is he one of the smart kids? Although he's not really a kid anymore, not if he's maybe eighteen.”

If Stiles liked girls and were into the Sweet Girl Next Door and Allison wasn't complete taken by Scott in a Happily Ever After kind of way, he would be so in love with her.

Allison was just the best human being Stiles had ever met.

“I don't really know,” Stiles said and looked down at his feet. “He doesn't really say anything in class, and I haven't given them any written assignments as of yet.” He worried his lower lip nervously, considering how much he should reveal. “Rumor has it he's sort of a bad boy.”

Allison smiled wolfishly. “That definitely sounds hot. How bad do we talk here?”

“Hangs-around-town-with-his-posse-of-unadjusted-teenage-misfits-and-a-juvenile-record bad?” Stiles looked up at her tentatively. Allison's eyebrows had show halfway up her forehead.

“You don't settle for anything, do you?” She asked.

“Holy shit, you're crushing on Derek Hale?” Scott then blurted.

“How did you know?” Stiles demanded, feeling his cheeks heat in humiliation.

“I'm working with your dad,” Scott said coldly and Stiles' cheeks got even hotter.

“Oh, yeah. You would know that then.”

“Wait,” Allison interjected. “Derek Hale? One of the survivors from the fire-” my crazy-ass aunt lit, went unsaid and an uncomfortable silence fell on the trio.

“I've really got my work cut out for me, don't I?” Stiles asked, feeling thoroughly hopeless.

“You should probably just give it up already,” Scott offered and patted his shoulder. “Derek Hale is bad news, although, you know, he did all of his community service without a word of complaint and actually volunteers now that he's finished. Plus, it's not as much as a juvenile record and more list of complaints of loitering hostilely.”

“Sco-ott,” Stiles whined, dragging the name into multiple syllable to communicate his displeasure. “I already got butterflies in my stomach when I saw him.”

“So what?” Scott asked, confused as only he could be.

“And now you've just added positive personality traits, it's probably going to be even worse,” Allison explained and offered Stiles a bad parody of a smile.

They ate the pizza and drank the beers in sullen silence, then Stiles went home and drank half a bottle of vodka and passed out on top of the keyboard to his home PC, researching the Hale family story, and really just trying to find out what happened to Derek and the rest of the survivors after the fire.

 

By mid October Stiles was firmly and irrevocably in love with one Glare McBroodypants, better known as Derek 'Bad Influence' Hale.

It grew increasingly hard for Stiles not to ask the sullen teenager to stay back to violate him in the most delicious of ways. Or have Derek violate him instead, either way worked for him, and a kid like Derek surely demanded the control of being the pitcher to Stiles' catcher.

And would he ever catch for him – again and again and it was completely inappropriate to think about that when he was waiting for Derek's guardian to come to the individual parent-teacher consultation.

And that was when soft knocks on the door alerted him to another presence and he looked up to see a woman, probably a bit younger than himself and with the dark hair he recognized from his classes and half his dreams (but all the good ones).

“Mr. Stilinski?”

“Please call me Stiles,” he asked and stood to meet her halfway through the room. “You must be Derek's-”

“Older sister. I'm Laura Hale.” Stiles remembered her, when he thought about it and got a closer look at her. She had to have been two years or so below him High School.

“Please sit Laura,” he said pleasantly and felt very professional when he didn't stumble over his feet when he sat himself. “So, Derek.” Laura smiled a strained smile.

“Please don't let it be that bad, I've just spoken to his English teacher and then his Calc teacher and then his Spanish teacher and I just... I could really use some good news by now,” Laura said and slumped in her chair. “Please at least tell me he hasn't threatened you or acted out in any sort of way during your classes?”

“Oh, wow. No... no! Nothing of that sort, he just... kind of sit there? And, like, pay really intense attention to everything I say, I suppose?” And just like that Stiles' totally cool professionalism was gone and he was feeling flustered, and kind of special, because he hadn't received threats.

And how pathetic was that anyway?

“Really?” Laura perked up, straightening in her seat. “He talks about you, actually. And not in the way he usually talks about his teachers – which you really don't want to know about. I think he thinks you're funny.”

And a waaaay inappropriate surge of warmth invaded Stiles' body.

“I'm glad to hear that,” he admitted, then added, “but I would have hoped he found me and my subject interesting,” for good measure.

“Derek was always fond of history,” Laura informed him, leaning forward all warm smiles and inviting atmosphere. Stiles hoped she wasn't flirting, he was horrible at picking up social clues and was not in the least interested in Laura.

“I'm definitely glad to hear that. I have this nagging feeling, that Derek is actually quite intelligent and really knows his stuff, but he hasn't handed in any of his assignments yet and, well, I'm sorry to say this, because obviously you have enough on your plate already, but if he doesn't start doing something soon, I'm going to have to fail him.”

Laura's smile fell.

“Yeah, I suppose I should've seen that one coming,” she said bitterly. “But I just...shit, I just can't get through to him! I try talking to him, but it's like talking to a door.” A very attractive door, Stiles couldn't help but think before immediately scolding himself for letting his mind go there.

“I could try to pull him aside after class,” Stiles offered slowly, tentatively. “Try to make him understand how important it is that he make an effort?” It came out sounding like a question, but the beaming smile on Laura's face were an obvious answer.

“That would be great,” she declared happily. “I swear, if I could just get him to stop hanging out with those friends of his, he could do so much better.”

“I don't think Derek would appreciate you thinking like that about his girlfriend,” Stiles said carefully. The Hale kids had it hard enough as it was, and he really didn't wish for them to grow weary of each other over a girlfriend.

“Girlfriend?” Laura asked, frowning with confusion making Stiles confused in turn.

“Yes, Erica Reyes? They're always together at school, I though you knew-”

“Erica's with Boyd. Derek takes them to the house all the time after we finished renovating, those two are all over each other. And beside – Derek doesn't swing that way.”

Two heart beats passed while Stiles processed that tidbit of information.

“Derek doesn't swing what way?” he asked, mouth suddenly dry as the Nevada desert.

“Derek's gay,” An amused smile played around Laura's lips. “I admit I partially blame that for the way he's been acting around people. But I thought everyone knew he took Danny Mahealani to Junior prom-”

“He took Danny to prom?” So, if Stiles' heart stopped beating for a minute while his eyes opened enough for the eyeballs to almost pop out, it wasn't really that big a deal. Everyone would be shocked to find out about something like that. “But Danny's my age, we graduated together – hell, we battled for the role of valedictorian together only to be beaten by Lydia Martin together.”

Laura smiled fondly, looking lost in memory. “Yeah, I guess Derek has a thing for older guys.”

Stiles' mind had been blown.

“Oh,” he said, a sad sound leaving him with an exhale. “Good for him, I suppose.” Danny. Stiles had a crush on Danny once too. Right after his brief crush on coach Finstock – he had been very passionate about the lacrosse team, and Stiles had really liked that before he eventually ended up running laps until he puked. Most effective way to kill a budding crush to date.

“Yeah,” Laura said, and maybe Stiles startled a bit having sort of forgotten she was still with him in the room. “Well, I have to leave now, dinner should be ready in fifteen and Derek gets all scowly when I'm late. Or more scowly, like outright glaring.” She smiled pleasantly, shaking Stiles' hand before leaving and Stiles hated that he couldn't do anything but gape helplessly, because _Derek Hale cooked_ and even on a regular basis.

And he was gay, or at least bisexual.

And into older men.

And so, so incredibly hot Stiles was nervous he would spontaneously combust every time he was in his immediate vicinity.

Stiles' only problem would have to be that Derek had too good taste to be interested in Stiles – Danny was the greatest person Stiles had ever met. He was the sort of man who helped old ladies cross the roads and volunteered to all kinds of nice shit and in comparison Stiles was just a total loser who ended up working at his old High School.

Of course, Derek being Stiles' student put a very effective stop to any possible romantic entanglements too, but Stiles had thought about that so much it had kind of lost meaning. Like when you said the same word so many times that in the end it was just meaningless noise.

But then the next parent showed up and Stiles had to think about less pleasant – or more pleasant, surely, as Derek was a thorn in his side, and not something he liked thinking about – things for the next two and half hours.

Someone really ought to remind him why he thought teaching was such a good idea again.

 

So, Stiles had just had one of the most horrible classes in his entire life, including the one in Chemistry where his experiment had blown up in his face and singed his eyebrows.

The air-condition was broken.

While that would normally mean less to nothing as it was getting later in the year and yeah, the kids could just, like dress accordingly, in this particular situation it meant that instead of nice cool air, the air-con was blowing fucking _boiling_ _hot_ air into all the class rooms at a pace no amount of open windows could counter-act.

To Stiles, that meant that Derek Hale had – for the first time ever as fast as Stiles could remember – taken his ver-present leather jacket off.

And hello there, indecently well-developed torso who in no fair universe would belong to a seventeen year-old. Stiles had never in his life worked so hard on _not_ getting an erection, and there had been more than a few times that had occurred.

Plus, he had to keep Derek after the class finished to have that talk with him he promised Laura, and it was just wrong on too many levels to count.

Stiles was pretty sure half of his thoughts were major sacking reasons.

The bell sounded and his heart stopped beating for long enough for Stiles to wonder if he had died and gone to Heaven – Hell, surely this would be Hell.

“Derek, would you please stay for a bit?”

It worried Stiles that he had been witness to enough of Derek's glares to detect the faint note of surprise in his eyebrows. His magnificently attractive eyebrows that Stiles may or may not have composed sonnets about.

Derek and Erica walked, the last ones as ever, to the front of the class where Derek with a nod indicated for Erica to leave him alone.

Stiles didn't know if to feel worried or relieved at that.

“I talked with your sister last week, at the parent consultations.” Derek looked blank. And glaring, but that was apparently his default expression and Stiles had gotten fairly good at ignoring that. “Derek, I'm going to have to fail you if you don't start making an effort in class and hand in the assignments. And don't look like that, I know you can do it, I've seen you roll your eyes when someone gets an answer to a question wrong, and you just radiate supercilious-ness all through my classes, so I really don't think it would be a problem for you to get and A, you just have to try, you know.”

Stiles was a talker, he had known that forever. When he was tired he talked. When he was happy he talked.

The only exception to Stiles being a talker was when he was nervous – then he turned into a rambler.

“What makes you think I care about my grades?” Derek asked coldly and Stiles was so surprised to hear him talk – a possibility he ought to be prepared for, really – that he gaped.

“Oh, um,” he said, trying to gather himself and figure out a way to draw Derek in. “I don't,” he finally settled on, because beside the fact that Derek was a steaming hot piece of No-Touch and that he cooked, Stiles knew next to nothing. “But I do know that you care for your sister, and she's like, crazy worried about you and I'm not saying that our situations are anything alike, but when I was just a kid my Mom died so when I grew up it was just my Dad and I and I worried just as much about him as he did about me – if not more. So I figured, you're a mature young man, you probably feel the same as me. I did!”

Derek looked back stone-faced, with his jacket slung over his shoulder and his arms crossed tightly over his chest. It made his arm muscles bulge in the most beautiful way.

“Plus there's always the point about getting an education afterward – you're going to need to graduate and preferably with as nice grades as possible, so yeah...”

Stone-faced glaring eyes met Stiles' pleading ones.

“Why do you care?”

Jesus, Derek was not the trusting type was he.

And shit, what the hell was Stiles going to say to that? It wasn't like he could just tell the truth and 'because it's my job' was the most horrible thing he could say now.

“Because I do. Because I think I might still be able to help. Because Erica, Isaac, and Boyd look up to you like you're their God, and if you start making an earnest try so will they and then I've got four successes on my hand and not just one. And because I think you can. I really think so, and I think you deserve to have things pan out for you because so far your life has sucked pretty bad and I don't want it to continue to do that.”

That had to be the worst motivational speech in the history of motivational speeches, including the speech coach Finstock gave the lacrosse team every time they had an important match, which everyone knew was actually the talk from Independence Day and fuck, now he had probably lost Derek for always and he really, really sucked at his job.

Also, that was a new expression of glare Derek had going on, and Stiles wondered what that meant when Derek's hands shot out to grasp Stiles' shirt and the thought 'Oh God, I'm going to die' ran through Stiles' mind but then Derek's lips were on his and oh.

Oh.

Soft lips.

Warm.

Oh, and tongue.

Derek tasted really good.

DEREK!

Stiles started flailing, because he was a dork and did shit like that and Derek pushed him away and left the class room, closing the door after him with more force than it really needed.

And Stiles should probably see a doctor, because his heart? Seriously trying to burst through his chest.

 

Stiles' life had to be one big, cosmic joke.

Somewhere in Heaven or the sky or above or wherever the hell some big God-like thing was laughing their ass off on Stiles' expense, because, really. This was just not fair.

Being a loser who moved back to the town he grew up in the minute he graduated, Stiles could deal with that.

Getting a job at the High School he had attended and hated every second of his teenage-life, also possible to deal with.

Crushing like there were no tomorrow on one of his students, thinking about said student in all sorts of M-rated and illegal ways was also manageable, although a bit harder.

Derek fucking Hale kissing him?

Nope.

Stiles' brain had officially had a melt-down caused by stress and was currently vacating on Jamaica, far away from the train-wreck that was Stiles' life.

It was so bad his friends were worried about him too.

Which might actually have more to do with the fact that he was sitting on their couch staring into nothing than the fact that his life ended.

“Dude, you're scaring the crap out of us,” Scott said quietly an Stiles laughed bitterly, because really? He scared them? Imagine how he felt.

What the hell was he supposed to do?

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” he asked the room in general.

Lydia was standing on the other side of the coffee table scoffing at him, while Allison sat next to him rubbing soothing circles on his back.

“What the hell am I doing here?” Lydia asked icily. “And you're a grown-up, figure out what to do on your own, the rest of us manage to do that. Hell, even Scott is able to take a few choices without the crutch we otherwise refer to as Allison.”

“Hey,” Scott said insulted but Allison jut shook her head.

“He kissed me,” Stiles said quietly, not reallt out of the blue because the moment kept playing over and over again in his head, and sometimes the fact would just spill from his lips. “Then he handed in all the previous assignments.”

“What?” Lydia asked, sourly and frowning.

“They were all really good, I didn't have to give below a B.”

“Stiles, you aren't making sense,” Allison said, her voice soft and soothing and Stiles closed his eyes.

“He _kissed_ you?” Scott asked incredulously, because they hadn't been best friends forever for nothing and practically knew what the other was thinking at all times. Which was disturbing at the best of times and won-right scarring at the worst. “ _He_ kissed _you_?”

“Yeah.”

“What the hell?” Scott sounded as conflicted and surprised as Stiles felt.

“Scott, what're you talking about?” Allison asked her boyfriend, her hand stalling on Stiles' back.

“Derek Hale _kissed_ _Stiles!”_

“He _what_?” Lydia demanded, sounding like it was an insult to her person. “I told you to keep away from that kid, he is obviously bad news!”

“No he isn't,” Stiles objected, realizing too late that he sounded too invested. Too caring about what people thought about Derek, who might not be the perfect boy scout, but definitely was _not_ the pariah the gossips liked to make him out to be.

“I'm sure he's not,” Allison consoled, resuming rubbing his back and it really didn't calm him that much, not when he was involved in an angry glaring-match with Lydia, who in no way was as good at glaring as Derek was.

“So, what?” Lydia challenged. “Are you going to pursue him? Are you going to be a complete retard and kiss him again, because that might get you fired and you don't want to get fired from your first job after only a few months, that'll look horrible on your resume.”

“Yeah, well,” Stiles started swallowing angrily. “I know that but if he wants to and I want to then fuck what other people think, and we can keep it a secret. Or at least for now, because everybody know I'm only doing this while Allison's mom get back to health and even if I wanted to stay they don't really need to history teachers, do they? Plus, Derek graduates this summer so there!”

“Mom's talking about retiring,” Allison said quietly.

“Yeah, just listen to- what?” Derek is completely off Stiles' mind when he caught up with just _what_ Allison said. Well, almost off his mind anyway, because Derek was never that far from Stiles' thoughts even when he wasn't the frolicking main character.

And the thought of Derek frolicking was just bizarre.

“Yeah. She's talking about opening her own shop. A book shop. She always wanted to do that.”

“She-what? Wait, I... that doesn't mean she- I mean I-”

“She said she talked granddad about it, and if you're doing a good job, they'll probably offer you the position.”

Because the creepy as fuck principal was actually Gerard Argent, Allison's grandfather, who of course listened to his daughter-in-law and shit.

What the hell was Stiles going to do then?

“What the hell am I going to do then?”

“You need to figure that out, don't you?” Lydia said with a roll of her eyes, and yeah. Stiles should probably figure that out.

Except, he didn't get a chance to, because there was a lot that need to be figured, and come Monday after finishing his favorite and most feared class of the week, because it was practically horrifying to come back after the weekend and realize he was still hopelessly in love with a boy seven years younger than him, Derek hung back after all the other students left.

“H-how can I help you, Derek?” Stiles asked, and was making very carefully sure to keep his desk between them, because he remembered what it was like to be a teenage boy, and he had wanted to pounce at Lydia or Danny or coach Finstock or – during a very weird and heart-breaking week – Scott, and Derek kind of has that look in his eyes.

“Are you going to fail me?”he asked and his voice sounded perfectly calm, which should probably have alerted Stiles, except he wasn't used to Derek speaking and didn't know what to read into his tone of voice.

“No, those were some really good papers. If you make the same effort in your other classes you'll be a straight A-student in a month or two.”

And oh, God. Then Derek jumped across the desk, like it was nothing at all, and Stiles was pressed up against the blackboard, clutching at Derek's leather jacket while having his breath kissed out of his lungs and in the far back of his mind a little voice read aloud in a creepy female voice 'If this is wrong I don't want to be right' and Stiles wholeheartedly agreed.

Derek was a very talented kisser. He was smooth and gentle while still being insistent and persistent in just the right amount and Stiles was lucky he was being held against the board because his knees were so _not_ in any condition to hold his weight, no matter how pathetically low it was.

Stiles may have moaned a bit at some point, but if he did it wasn't that much and clearly not too loud as nobody barged in and disrupted them.

Derek pulled away. Slowly, pressing small parting kisses to Stiles' gasping mouth and the teacher couldn't help but feel both relieved and disappointed their make-out session was ending.

“Wha-?” he asked, his voice a hoarse croak. Derek smirked and Stiles lost the ability to breathe.

“My prize,” Derek said, his breath wafting out across Stiles' lips making them tingle.

“Prize?” Perhaps Stiles should be worried he couldn't speak more than a one-syllable words at the time, but really – when one was pressed against one's black board by one's most attractive student, and current crush, one couldn't set one's hopes high, surely.

“I need incentive to work,” Derek said. Or maybe more like purred, Stiles thought, as his chest sort of rumbled.

It was a very interesting sensation that did all sorts of interesting things to Stiles' very interested anatomy.

“Yeah?” he asked to distract his one-track-mind from going completely south.

“I'm just a horny teenager, what better way to motivate me?”

And-

Nope. Stiles could not find any fault at all with that type of logic. Except-

“And I'm the best you can do?”

“Yes.”

Right. That sounded very definitive. Stiles wet his lips, drawing Derek's eyes to the movement. It was very flattering, but not very wise.

Stiles could not remember doing anything this stupid since... well, ever, but he still couldn't help but be eager to do it again.

“Well, then we're going to need some ground-rules.”

 

If Derek got a B on a paper he got a chaste, close-mouthed kiss.

If he got an A he got one with tongue.

Stiles was exceedingly proud of himself every time he manged to stick by the rules. Papers delivered to him personally often earned themselves an A and long knee-weakening and blood rush-inducing kisses though, but Stiles consoled himself that he really couldn't help but give such good grades as Derek actually just was that smart.

Stiles needed quite a bit of consolation. Every time Derek left him, for example. He would be hit with a wave of the most gut-wrenching guilt and doubt and certainty that he was corrupting Derek and ruining his life.

Followed by his nagging inner voice that kept telling him it felt like it was the other way around on the corruption account.

Generally Derek was doing increasingly well in all his subjects, the number of kisses were clear proof of that, resulting in Stiles sleeping poorly, losing weight because he couldn't eat, and isolating himself from his friends.

Or...

He would have isolated himself if he hadn't been such a social creature, instead crashing down onto Scott and Allison's couch regularly to whine and moan about the fatal and fantastic young man that was Derek Hale, his sort-of-not-really-a-boyfriend-but-definitely-more-than-a-student-which-were-just-so-soooo-bad. Lydia had been pushed too far by Stiles random and ranting phone calls and would now hang up on him only a few seconds into the call when she knew what type of call it was going to be.

But, in all honestly, Stiles needed his friends! He was clearly not in any position to make any grown-up decisions as he was clearly not a proper grown-up when he regularly molested a student of his.

Which he dramatically told Allison on a late Wednesday afternoon after one particularly boner-inducing encounter with Derek.

“I would tell you to end it, but you're obviously doing something good for this kid,” she said slowly from the armchair next to Stiles' head. He shifted to fix her with a pleading look. “I don't know what to do,” she said insistently. “Perhaps you should go out or on a date or something? With someone else, that is.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows at her. “A date? Why? Why would I do that?”

“To try and get your mind off of things,” Allison said and shrugged. “I actually think it would be a great idea. Oh, and I work with this guy, I think you would really like him!”

And because Allison was the real life version of a Disney Princess, he was in no position to say no.

Enter Anthony, a really nice guy from Allison's work at the shooting range who – beside harboring a nearly obsessive affection for firing arms – liked all the same things as Stiles. They texted a bit back and forth and settled for a movie date.

The Expendables 2, Stiles thought, were just clear enough from anything romantic to keep it from being awkward if they didn't have chemistry and easy enough for them to talk about if it turned out they did.

And okay, so maybe he didn't have high hopes, like, at all, but at least there he was making idle small-talk with a reasonably attractive man just a bit too old and a bit too tall and a bit too smiley. But then Anthony – Tony please – made Stiles laugh and touched his shoulder and Stiles glanced away and met the intense and _very_ angry Derek Hale Glare®.

Stiles looked away quickly, trying to kill the shiver that ran down his back. He allowed Tony to escort him to their seats with a hand on the small of his backs, trying to convince himself that he could _not_ feel Derek's eyes boring into his skull all the way over. 

Stiles had payed for the tickets and Tony for the sodas and the big pop corn between them, but when they had taken their seats and Tony was eagerly telling Stiles about what type of shenanigans they did down at the range when no one was around, Stiles found he really couldn't pay attention to anything he said because Derek sat in the row _right behind them_ and emanated anger.

Like, Stiles could literally _feel_ how displeased with the situation Derek was.

Taste it almost.

So, Tony was all hand gestures and fond smiles while he was telling Stiles about... something! when a voice was cleared behind them and a timid male said, “Excuse me, but you appear to be in one of our seats” and Stiles just wanted to sigh because, come one, it was clear to everyone that Derek was not to be messed with right now.

“Go find some other seats,” Derek said gruffly, his voice all low and growly in a way that should not be as arousing as Stiles found it. But clearly he was hopeless and should just go kill himself or something.

“Hey, we paid for these seats,” the other man insisted and Stiles could hear the anger in his voice now and wasn't that just perfect. He would probably have to save the poor man's life from a terrible, horrible death by Derek before ending his miserable joke of a life. Figures.

“Carl,” a soft womanly voice protested.

“Well, now I've taken one of them,” Derek said ominously and that was Stiles' cue to step in.

He turned in his seat and found, as he had expected, a young couple, man in front and staring down angrily at Derek who stared back up just as angrily.

“Derek, let the nice couple have their seats,” he said carefully, like talking to a wild animal, and now, wasn't that a funny simile?

Derek shifted his attention from the man to Stiles and gave him the Glare To End All Glares before huffing and leaving the seat like he really couldn't be bothered.

Only to move two seats over, to where Stiles probably would be able to see him out of the corner of his eye the entire film. The date was going to end on a flat note, he could just feel it.

“I'm sorry, Derek has some anger management issues, but he's getting help,” Stiles said to the male part of the couple he could blame for the disrupted date, even if it would be ever so slightly unfair. 

When the man – Carl? - nodded slowly, agreeing, Stiles turned back to Tony giving him another apologetic smile. 

“You know that kid?” Tony asked, looking a bit suspicious, which Stiles could understand. It was thoroughly understandable. Nothing could be more understandable and no one more understanding than Stiles, that's how much understanding was going on.

“I'm his history teacher,” he explained, like it was the whole and complete story and Tony sort of lit up, like it was a commendable thing to do; teaching angry teenagers about history.

Thinking about it, Stiles didn't think it was that wise. He remembered sitting through European history and pointing out to himself all the mistakes the big bad guys like Hitler did, and what he would have done better if it had been him.

Stiles was pretty sure he would be able to take over the world in just about ten years if given the resources needed, like weapons and troops and all those crazy new army machines he really didn't care much for.

Tony could probably be his general.

No, then Allison would shoot him with her bow. Allison would be his general, Tony could be her adviser just like Scott would be Stiles'. 

Not that Stiles would listen to any of the given advice, but it was a nice way to keep those he trusted close.

Derek should probably be there too. He could be his true adviser. And his secret lover.

Oh, God. Tony had been talking through all that thinking and now he looked like he was waiting for an answer to some questions he had asked.

Shiiiiit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Oh – commercials.

“Oh, commercials! Can we take that question later?” Tony shook his head with an indulging smile and patted Stiles' hand in a way he couldn't help but feel was ever so slightly offensive.

And-

Stiles did not see any of the movie, too aware by the presence by his side and the other presence in the row behind him a few seats over.

It was weird, Stiles could swear he could _smell_ Derek from where he was sitting.

But not in a bad way!

In the musk-and-forest-and-just-a-pinch-of-body-odour-that-was-Derek-way. A smell Stiles found disturbingly appealing which was a totally bad sign and something he may or may not have kept from his friends.

Tony walked Stiles to his apartment and they parted way amiably but both acknowledging that they probably wouldn't see each other in that context again – a thing that made Stiles sigh deeply with relief when he closed his door behind him inside.

Then Stiles only had to deal with the Derek-part of the horrible night.

Only.

Derek didn't seem to want to be dealt with.

He didn't hang back after class the following Monday, which Stiles just shrugged off. Maybe Derek didn't have a returned paper to demand his prize for.

Or maybe he had just gotten a C or whatever and was mad about that.

When Derek didn't stay back Wednesday either Stiles found it just a bit harder to shrug off.

Then Thursday, Stiles was walking to the teachers' lounge when he saw Derek further down the hall and their eyes met.

And Derek turned on his heels and walked the way he had come; away from Stiles.

Aaaand-

Stiles was suddenly pretty sure Derek was avoiding him.

Stiles had never _ever_ – in his entire life – been avoided. Ignored, yes, a thousand times by just as many people, but never actually avoided.

It made him feel warm and fuzzy that someone deemed him important enough to work their way around.

And horribly and cold because it was Derek and Stiles kind of wanted to spend every waking hour with him. Preferably somewhere private. With a bed. And no clothing. And all those things you need to have sex, like condoms and lube and Stiles was going out on a tangent but he hadn't talked to Derek since the night in the movie theater and he hadn't kissed him in three weeks and he was going CRAZY!

So he asked Derek to stay back after class – on a complete whim – which left him to look up at Derek pleadingly while the boy just looked back at him with no emotions showing on his face.

Like, not even a glare. Or a scowl. Or anything.

And Stiles didn't know what to say.

“Er,” he said and felt thoroughly stupid and like he was fifteen again.

Fifteen had not been a good year for him.

“Do you want anything?” Derek asked his voice as blank and emotionless as his face.

“Did you get any papers back since last time?” Stiles asked, feeling pitiful and pathetic and other sad words beginning with P.

P was a good letter for sad things.

“Yes.”

“You did?” Stiles asked, surprised. 

“I did,” Derek said, a perfect statue in front of Derek. “Anything else? Because I need to get to class.”

“Else? I- no, just... No, you can go.” 

Stiles watched Derek walk out of his class room hoping he would glance back at him, knowing he wouldn't, but still feeling disappointed when he was proven right. It felt a lot like Derek had just walked out of Stiles' life, and that was pretty much the last thing Stiles wanted to happen.

His eyes did _not_ sting with tears.

 

Stiles was a sad person. And that was sad in the pathetic way.

Not that Stiles wasn't just sad-sad too, but pathetic-sad was the most scarring and embarrassing part of it, which Stiles didn't care about nearly enough because he was, you know, Sad, capital S and all.

Perhaps he should get a pet. Some cute puppy or kitten were bound to cheer him up, and he could transfer all his god-forsaken affection to them instead of pining after Derek who obviously didn't want him anymore.

Did he ever really? Or did he just want the opportunity to mack on one of his teachers, of which Stiles _very_ obviously as the lesser bad.

God, when Stiles had been a teenager Allison's mom had been the most attractive teacher he had and he didn't even like women! His crush on coach Finstock had more to do with his immediate authority and red, burning passion about lacrosse than actual attractiveness.

Part of Stiles hoped he didn't get the position after Mrs. Argent if she chose to retire. Even if Derek moved away or went to college, Stiles would still be reminded of him every time he went to work.

And when he went to the movies.

Or when he went grocery shopping, because he once met him there and they had a bit of a moment doing some indecent eye-fucking.

Pretty much everything in Stiles' life reminded him of Derek in some way.

Just like the angry knocks on his door sounded just the way Derek would knock if he were to knock on Stiles' door. If he knew where he lived.

Which he obviously did, Stiles concluded when he opened to find his favorite-slash-least-favorite-ever student in front of him.

“How- wha-? You- how do you-? What?” he asked flustered, wishing for the millionth time in his life that he was the sort of person you could use the word 'composed' about without giggling evilly. 

“Danny told me where you lived,” Derek said gruffly and wow – that kind of hurt.

Not that Danny told him where Stiles lived, because Danny was a horrible friend and past crush and would do anything to piss of Stiles.

But that Derek still talked to him. Stiles had sort of hoped their going to prom as a couple had long since passed and that Derek didn't care for him or talk with him or thought about him ever again.

Because Stiles was pathetic and hung up on his student.

Who was glaring at him from only a foot away.

Then Derek shoved a paper in Stiles' face and he had to blink fourteen times in rapid succession before his sight had refocused enough for him to see what it was.

“This is you report card,” he said dumbfounded and received a look from Derek that clearly said that Stiles was the most stupid person he had ever met and Stiles was entirely inclined to agree. 

He took a closer look at the report card.

“Wow, this is.. this is really good! Wow, you've got like, awesome grades here!”

“Erica's are almost as good as mine, Boyd's are decent, and Isaac aren't failing any of his classes.” Stiles gaped when Derek finished his longest speech _ever_.

“That's, wow... That's really good! That's quite a lot you've accomplished,” Stiles said feeling an embarrassing burst of pride for Derek. “I'm really proud of you.”

This was so worth at least seven of the funny kisses. Maybe eight. Perhaps even with some light groping, but Stiles didn't want to test his boundaries and he was scared that if he started he could never stop again.

“I don't want kisses,” Derek said as if he was reading Stiles' mind and what a really scary thought and _what_ did he just say?

“What did you-?” he said in a small voice, all happiness suddenly and quickly leaving him.

“I want more.”

“More?”

“I want to fuck you.”

Stiles mind went on shut-down as all the blood in his body went southwards so quickly he was pretty sure he went white as a sheet. 

“Wha-?”

Derek crowded him inside his flat, closing the door behind him before pressing him against the opposite wall and pressing their lips together. Stiles felt a very firm thigh press against his very hard erection and it was very, _very_ hard to keep his mind from going completely white.

Also, when had _he_ gotten hard?

“Derek-”

“Please don't say no.” And who was Stiles to deny a nice request like that?

Derek's teacher, that was who.

Fuck.

“Derek, this is such a bad idea,” he said in a broken moan when Derek moved down and dragged his lips and slightly stubbly jaw down Stiles' throat and it just felt so _good._

“Yes,” Derek said in that deep growly voice that almost made all Stiles' reservations fall away like magic. “Bad.” His hand sneaked under Stiles' shirt and then blunt nails dragged down his chest and that very nice sentence explaining just _why_ they should stop sort of magically disappeared from Stiles' mind.

He groaned, fingers twining in Derek's hair and forcing his face back up so they could kiss again, properly, thoroughly, wantonly. He manged to keep them joined at the lips when he pushed Derek backwards and started leading him towards the bedroom, not really aware of what he was doing until the very point were the backs of Derek's knees hit the edge of Stiles' Queen sized bed and he sat abruptly, finally severing their mouth-to-mouth-connection.

Although not for very long, as he grabbed Stiles' hips with both hands and pulled him down to straddle his legs and then resumed kissing the living day-light out of Stiles.

He wondered fleetingly if it was able to die from asphyxiation caused by kissing and ended up agreeing with himself that he wouldn't mind die like that if they got that far. 

Derek's hands slid from Stiles' hips to his ass, grabbing a cheek each and _kneaded_ them. Stiles sighed brokenly into Derek's mouth, the noise swallowed without disturbing the peace of the room. Stiles pushed his hips forward, breaking the kiss to gasp loudly when he rubbed against the hardness of Derek's erection. The boy's eyes were fixed on his face and it was slightly creepy with all that intense attention but it was Derek and everything he did was so, so hot it made Stiles feel like he was on fire.

It took more effort than Stiles thought he had in him to get off of Derek's lap, twisting out of Derek's grip when his face turned confused and hurt.

“We can't fuck like this,” Stiles explained, and quickly rounded his bed to search for his sex-kit in the night stand. “Or we could do it like that, but it's a lot easier on the bed and we need to take our clothes off anyway, so I would have to leave your lap anyway,” Stiles threw over his shoulder as he rummaged through the messy inside of the bed stand, searching frantically for the lube, a condom safely enclosed in his left hand. “Besides my lube and condoms are all the way over here, or they are usually but I just can't seem to find the lube, and we'll definitely need- ha! Found i-” Stiles stood in triumph, but his victorious outburst quietened when he turned to find Derek in all his naked glory perched on the edge of Stiles' bed.

And boy, was it ever glorious.

“Come here,” Derek said, voice low and dark and smooth and Stiles moved before he even thought about it, compelled to move to Derek's side, to stand between the vee of his legs and let him slide his hands from his knees to his hips.

“Oh,” Stiles whispered when Derek undid his belt and let it dangle around Stiles' hips as he undid Stiles' jeans too and slowly, oh so _fucking_ slowly slid them down Stiles' thighs.

He sighed. How could he not sigh, when Derek's hands ghosted over his thighs and he buried his face right next to Stiles' aching cock and breathed in and oh _God._

He flung the condom and the lube onto the bed and ripped his shirt off in a frantic motion, vaguely registering the sound of stitches tearing but not caring, because Derek was looking at him. Watching him with intent so strong Stiles had only ever seen it in Derek's eyes.

He had never in his life felt this desirable.

He made quick process of sliding his underwear off and straddled Derek's hips, claiming his mouth and quelling their twin gasps as their hard cocks slid against each other.

This added a while new dimension to their make-outs, which Stiles hadn't found lacking in the slightest but apparently they had lacked something anyway. Nudity. The feel of Derek's surprisingly smooth chest rub against Stiles' own, his hands caressing his sides softly, tenderly, as if Derek was afraid Stiles might bruise if he held him too tight.

“We can do it like this,” Stiles conceded happily into Derek's mouth, one hand buried in Derek's hair, the other wrapped around a bulging bicep, both aching to touch Derek's cock but Stiles wasn't sure if Derek wanted that just yet. “Here's fine. Here's perfect. Who needs a bed, really? Me, I only need the edge of it, that's totally good enough for me,” he rambled as Derek moved down to press open-mouthed kisses to Stiles' throat and that was just the best sensation ever.

Derek hummed his approval against the column of Stiles' neck.

“Good, let's get this show one the road,” Stiles said, feeling a burst of jittery energy. He shifted a bit trying to reach the lube he had dropped only moments ago.

Hours? It could have been hours, Stiles had no idea, Derek kisses made him lose all sense all too quickly.

“No, wait,” Derek said suddenly, looking up at Stiles with big nervous eyes. Stiles frowned and stopped moving. “We need to- you have to- I've read things. On the internet.” Stiles smiled, he thoroughly approved of research and encouraged his students to get used to it as early as possible, it was a life saving skill when they got to college. “You have to-to, you know,” Derek finished and and no,

“I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about,” Stiles said smiling fondly. He had never seen Derek like this before, all nervous and flustered and so _adorable_ and Derek would kill him afterward if he knew Stiles had just thought he was adorable.

“Stretch,” Derek said in a very thin voice. “I don't want to hurt you.”

Stiles died a bit inside. In a good way.

“I was just trying to reach the lube,” he said and oh, sweet Mother Mary, Derek _blushed_.

“Oh.”

Stiles shifted his weight slightly and was finally able to reach the small bottle of his good lube, quickly lathering his fingers up and reaching behind himself to slide one finger in. He felt his jaw fall slack and heard Derek's sharp intake of breath.

“Shit,” the teenager said breathily and yeah, very much so. Stiles wiggled his finger a bit, pulled his bottom lip into his mouth and started moving it in and out in small thrusts. “Holy, fuck,” Derek said and then Stiles' lip was pulled from its hold between Stiles' teeth and into Derek' searing hot mouth and Stiles had no words.

He slid his finger out and returned with two. He groaned into the kiss and Derek whimpered and grabbed hold of Stiles' cock and started jerking it with a tight dry palm. Stiles hissed, scissored his fingers, tried not to buck up into Derek's grip and failed.

“Stiles,” Derek said huskily and that was enough Stiles decided. He could take a bit of pain with his pleasure as long as Derek's cock entered him at that exact fucking moment.

He pulled his fingers out. “Enough,” he said, voice gruff and so unlike him. “Lie down, just...” He pushed at Derek's shoulders and nearly wept with relief when he went easily, lying back until he was resting on his elbows and his gorgeous swollen cock stood proudly right in front of Stiles and it look down-right tasty. “If I didn't need you to fuck me this much I would blow you,” he muttered absentmindedly as he moved to hover over Derek's cock looking down and locking their gazes. Derek was baring his teeth and Stiles grabbed hold of the cock and sank down on it.

Well, fuck him, but Stiles should probably have taken a bit longer to prepare himself. A third finger definitely, maybe even a fourth. 

“Stiles,” Derek moaned and it was hot, but it burned. Damnit, Stiles' asshole burned so bad where Derek was splitting him apart, it felt like liquid fire was spreading though his body from that exact point where they were connected. Derek's hips bucked up and _oh._

Derek hit the mark in his first go.

Of course he did.

Always Stiles' favorite student, always the quickest study. 

Stiles let out a high-keened whine, lifting himself and pushing down hard, gasping when Derek's cock somehow hit his prostrate _again_.

“Stiles,” Derek said, voice insistent and his hands went to Stiles' hips and his abs jumped and he was just so beautiful.

“Yes, Derek,” Stiles said and planted his knees firmly in the mattress and started a punishing pace, rising up and pressing down quickly, roughly.

So what if it hurt? Derek hurt him with everything little thing he did. Of course them having sex would hurt. Even Derek's hands on his hips were bound to leave bruises.

Derek moved up, grasped Stiles' lips in a kiss and Stiles did so very much not have presence enough to both move and kiss, so he stilled, wrapped his arms around Derek's shoulders and his life had never been better than this.

Then Derek pushed Stiles hips up, off of him and Stiles was insulted.

What on earth did he think he was doing?

But then Derek somehow lifted Stiles and threw him onto the bed behind him, pushed him further up when his ankles dangled over the edge and then he was back between Stiles' legs. Back where he belonged and he slid in, all the way, and this time it didn't hurt and Stiles moaned loudly and grasped helplessly for something to hold on to and deciding that the only thing he really wanted to hold onto was Derek, so he wrapped his arms around him again, his fingers automatically going to his hair and Derek started _moving_ and _oh._

Oh, God!

Derek's hand was on Stiles' cock again, less dry, probably from the pre-come, but just as tight and Stiles bucked up, pressed back, thrashed like he was electrocuted and all too soon he came and came and came.

When Stiles' vision turned not-white and his heart-beat returned to a oh-my-God-I'm-not-gonna-die-anyway-rate it was to find Derek still lying on top of him, panting, sticky, and whimpering ever so slightly.

Which was good, because Stiles might have had a moment where he thought Derek looked like he was hurting himself but the whimpers didn't sound like they from pain even if his previously blissed-out and defenseless expression had turned pinched and eternally agonized again.

“You okay?” Stiles asked quietly and had to admit he was surprised when Derek shook his head against his collar-bone.

“No,” he whispered so quietly Stiles almost didn't hear it over the shiver he got from the hot air blowing across his still tingling skin. Stiles frowned.

“No?” he asked.

Derek shifted his head on Stiles' shoulder and peered up at him.

“Should I leave?”

Stiles tightened his hold on him. “If you leave I'm going to bring you back. Or hang around your house like a complete creeping pervert until you take pity on me and come willingly. No, I say you stay right here and fall asleep on top of me and then we'll talk about this and how screwed up it is and how we're going to repeat it anyway tomorrow after I've cooked you breakfast.” Derek's mouth quirked up in the corners, only perceptible if you knew his stone-facedness as intimately as Stiles.

“Okay,” Derek said and shifted his weight a bit so he wasn't putting all of it on Stiles, making breathing just a little bit easier for the poor older man, who secretly really liked the way Derek's head was now resting on his chest and his arm slung possessively over his waist.

“Good,” he said into the silent room and wrapped one hand in Derek's hair and the other around his hand. 


End file.
